Friday, February 26, 2016

Nostalgia and the Cowtown Marathon

The Cowtown Marathon this weekend will
bring back a lot of memories for me. My late friend, Charles Ogilvie, who ran
in that race well into his eighties and took me to many carbo-loading dinners, used to say it began in my living room,
and I think it did. My ex was part of a group from the Institute for Human
Fitness, and several men met weekly on Sunday afternoons to discuss
programming. The Institute, a part of what was then the Texas College of
Osteopathic Medicine, had a program to promote health through fitness and
preventive medicine, rather than treating illness. What happened to that
approach is sad and a bit stupid, but it’s a story for another day.

At the time Joel (my ex) and I had a
friend, Anne, living with us. While the men talked fitness, Anne and I were out
in the kitchen whipping up the richest desserts we could imagine. I
particularly remember her Italian Cream Cake. And the men ate like there was no
tomorrow. Fitness?

At any rate they came up with the plan
of a marathon. This was back in the late 1970s—do the math: this is the 37th
running. It took months of planning, endless committee meeting, countless
volunteers—I was coordinator of publicity and worked with my dear friend
Melinda Mason from the Star-Telegram. I’m
not sure why they chose a date in late February, but they did.

The night before the first race, we were
sitting in our bedroom when we heard it—sleet! Joel spoke eloquently, “Shit! I
didn’t want sleet.” Next morning the ground was covered with ice, snow and
sleet. He left way early, and the four kids and I followed cautiously, not
quite so early. What I can’t believe to this day is that I turned the kids
loose in the Stockyards District while their dad and I worked—Jordan must have
been really young at the time, but I guess she had her siblings to look after
her. Still, I would no more do that today than I’d run a marathon myself. The
kids loved it, looked forward to it each year, and have told me since there was
always a huge group of kids they hung out with—yeah, where Marine Creek passes
under buildings in dark tunnels and rocks anyone could trip on. I don’t like to
think about it.

Having abandoned my parental
responsibilities, I had a ball, talking on radio stations, taking care of this
and that detail, arranging trophies, who knows what? At the end of the day, all
four kids magically reappeared and all was well. It was one of the highlights of
my year.

Joel never ran until the last year of
our marriage which was really frayed by that time, so I didn’t get the joy of
welcoming him across the finish line. After we divorced, I worked one or two
races, but it wasn’t the same, and I gave it up.

This Sunday the full marathon will go
by my house, and I’ll watch the runners, judging their style and timing, and my
thoughts will be far back in the distant past.

Jordan will power walk the 5K, and
Jacob will run it though he’s made it plain he won’t stay with his mom. He
wants to run with his buddies. I’m not sure he even knows what role the
grandfather he never knew had in starting the race. But I know, and I remember,
and I offer a silent salute.